In Which Hilarity Ensues
by Ava Phoenixia
Summary: The Enchanted Forest is not the only place where unusual things occur. Travel to the kingdom of Manape and hear the tale of the Royal Sorcerer and Firewitch, and how they cleared up a major misunderstanding. Can you spot the references? Not AU yet.
1. Yes, Firewitches

**Can you spot all the allusions and references? There's so many and they're so varied that I can hardly keep track of them all myself. This is a rewrite.**

**On with the story!**

* * *

In Which the Scene is Set and the Characters Introduced

Once upon a time, a few kingdoms to the south of the Enchanted Forest, there was a country called Manape. This country was nearly perfectly ordinary in every way: it had a handsome, courageous king, a lovely, dark-haired queen and a beautiful, fair-haired princess. Manape also had its fair share of knights and virtuous woodsmen, and the number seven was greatly in fashion, due in part to the Royal Sorcerer. However, no one and no place was perfectly traditional, and the hot, dry climate in Manape was the sort of place perfect for firewitches.

Yes. Firewitches.

Manape teemed with them. Every major city had at least one hundred, and even the occasional backwater hamlet had its "Town" Firewitch. There were also ordinary sorcerers and witches- but most of them were more traditional. King Mauronus had his own Royal Sorcerer- and a Royal Firewitch, too, and both of them looked after the welfare of the king, his queen, his daughter and the kingdom in general.

How the king had come to make those posts was actually an interesting story.

A few years back- seven years exactly, an auspicious number- Princess Aemilia had been kidnapped. This was not uncommon among princesses, but Princess Aemilia was abducted most heinously- not by a dragon, nor an ogre, nor an evil witch- but by a neighboring kingdom, a little to Manape's east: Sudarynn.

Or so everyone thought. Exactly why Sudarynn should have wanted to kidnap Princess Aemilia in the first place was beyond anyone. But it had definitely been the pointy hats and oriental design of Sudarynn's army's uniforms that the Princess's kidnappers had been seen wearing. And everyone knew that the Sudarynni were ruthless savages anyway. Not that anyone had ever really seen a Sudarynni.

Needless to say, King Mauronus was at a loss. He was a very fine, upright and _traditional _king. He couldn't offer the usual reward to the one who returned his daughter- what would the King of Sudarynn want with extra land, anyway?- and there was no ransom demand, so it could not have been renegade soldiers, so what should he do?

Oh, wait. He knew! He would declare war on Sudarynn! That was traditional- _and_ it would teach King to kidnap his daughter! So he began to assemble his pitiful forces to rally against the militarily superior, tactically brilliant Sudarynni generals. Mauronus would also keep those pesky ambassadors off of the palace grounds, so they couldn't spy on his war efforts or distract his soldiers with their endless prattling about a mistake. They would attack as soon as Mauronus got a magician for the newly-made post of Royal Sorcerer, to lead his troops and ensure victory.

King Mauronus was not known for his intelligence or brilliance, but he wasn't completely stupid either. He knew better than to march into Sudarynn without some kind of advantage! Of course, if he had had a little more common sense he would have realized that a sorcerer- or any magic wielder really, Sudarynnis were very superstitious and magic held them in awe- could have scried for Princess Aemilia and then gone and fetched her with little trouble. But as the commoners say, nobles don't have common sense- otherwise they wouldn't be noble, would they?

It was a good thing for the country that the particular man that King Mauronus was after for the job was clever- and, more to the point, commonsensical enough to know that War Is Not the Answer. (No, it was the question! Just kidding.)

Tanamoril Talgarth, or Tanamoril the Shadow, was a sorcerer who roved about the countryside on his mare, a fine horse from a rare Far Eastern breed. It was said that he knew neither borderline nor boundary, and even when the country he passed through was hostile towards strangers and built impenetrable walls to keep them out, he always got by during the night- though no one knew how (hence the name the uninintiated gave him). He seemed to the unmagical to be everywhere.

The truth was, Moril- what few friends he had once had called him that- never spent magic to get by guards when a gold coin would do it. It was not because he was lazy, or as if common border guards would know who he was. He knew, from harrowing experience, that any practitioner of magic must always save what power they have, for "one day in every magician's life comes a time when every dram of magic will be needed." Or so he always said.

Whenever Moril came upon a suitable little town or village, he would inquire after a field or yard to set up in. That done, he would put out his signs, advertising him as a Jack-of-All-Trades-Magical, claiming that he offered more charms and charged less (though he never said more or less than who or what), that his magical workings were the best quality. As time wore on, he had less and less need for the signs, though he always put them out anyway.

Because it was true, what the signs said. He did do almost any kind of spell or charm (Only not necromancy. _That_ was black magic), he did offer more charms for less money than most magicians, and his magical abilities were unprecedented. How he got to be so good was actually an interesting- and, yes, harrowing- story, but it is not the story being told. Let it merely be said that he was in a war and learned the hard way.

Oddly enough, though Tanamoril could have settled down in any number of flourishing little towns, he always left after about seven days, and reappeared farther to the west- about seven miles on, if he could help it. (Despite Tanamoril's speed, gossip always somehow managed to stay ahead of him, even when he took steps- just to confound the rumors- and turned up a little farther south or north then what he originally intended.) The rumormongers quickly noticed that Tanamoril seemed to have a thing for sevens, and this tidbit helped to fan the flames of interest around the countryside, much to Tanamoril's irritation.

Tanamoril's real goal for wandering around the land was to defuse any and all wars possible. His agonized childhood in a war-torn land made him both realisitic and hateful of war. It was not as if he thought he could bring about world peace. But he knew that little things matter, so he did what he could, and all his charms doubled as peace, his invisibilty cloaks had tranquility charms sewn in, and his seven-league boots had the signs for serenity on the insteps. He travelled through the many kingdoms defusing wars and breaking up fights, and listening to the gossips.

Yep. The gossips. As much as Moril hated them, they brought him news of impending war. At the moment, one such gossip- they always insisted on making small talk when they came to buy his spells- was telling him of tidings of war preparations in the capital of Manape.

"What a lovely little charm. Looks just like a fairy pot, what with all these pretty little glyphs. Do you know, I once saw such a fairy pot in a display in the Palace. I was lucky enough to have a relative working as a higher servant, and she invited me over. It's too bad no one can visit the Palace now. They're preparing for war, isn't it too bad. Against the Sudarynnis."

Here Tanamoril came on point like a hound in a hunt, though of course he would never show it, especially to a shallow gossipmonger. "Really," he said. "That _is_ too bad." And that was all he needed to say, and the gossiper ploughed on.

"Yes- I hear it was because they kidnapped Princess Aemilia. How shameful! King Mauronus, of course, isn't standing for it. He's almost set to march on them now- he just needs his Sorcerer. How clever of him to turn the tables on those savages- playing their own nontraditional game! Magic is practically the only thing those savages fear."

"Indeed?" Tanamoril knew that real gossips only need one word to get them going- or keep them going.

"Oh, yes- didn't you know? In fact, I heard some rumors that you were going to be his Sorcerer."

"...Ah." It was to Moril's credit that he only showed a little surprise.

This information also explained why, when noblemen on feisty stallions appeared the next day demanding rooms and asking after one Tanamoril the Shadow, Moril slipped off the way the "Shadow" part of his name suggested.

For about a while even gossip lost track of him. When he resurfaced, it was in the town that this story's other protagonist lived in. A firewitch sort of town.

Yes. Firewitches.


	2. Oh, How Little They Knew

**Apologies to HollyBridgetPeppermint, but I really could not wait any longer. Any corrections sent to me will be corrected; I shall send the third chapter as soon as I finish it.**

**Update 1/19/11: I have run through the story again and found things that needed a little extra explaining, and parts that wanted different wording. I have changed them now.**

* * *

In Which the Second Protagonist is Introduced and the Action Rises

Now, as everyone knows, firewitches are rare. But for whatever reason, Manape has more than its fair share of firewitches. Most people assume that it has something to do with the climate, but of course nobody wants to ask the firewitches- for fear of being found offensive. No one wants to face down a firewitch's irritated wrath, and death by flames. After all, everyone knows firewitches are temperamental.

The particular firewitch in this story was actually born of two fine, upstanding, _traditional_ citizens of Manape (instead of migrating there, as most firewitches do when they come of an age to leave the home of their parents). Heaven knows why. No one else, not even the third cousins in the mostly firewitch-inhabited town, had even an inkling of magic. Anyway, needless to say, her parents were horrified. However, they held out great hopes for their child anyways; they named her Tana and had her trained in witchly arts, in the hope that she would be a great help to some hero or other on a great quest when she came of age.

Oh, how little they knew.

Naturally, that was not what happened. No, instead she became the questor in question.

She was called, respectfully (of course), Tana Millersdaughter, as was the way in Manape, as her parents were the town's miller and his wife. She much disliked the name and preferred to be called Tana Mil. She had recently achieved mastery at the Manape University of Sorcery, and was en route west, to home.

Due to unforseen circumstances, it would be at least a year before she returned. Not, of course, that she ever really cared above half for the gossip-filled little town.

* * *

It may have been said previously that Tanamoril practiced nearly all magics (but not necromancy), and was good at them all. This is an exaggeration. Moril _was_ good, or good enough, but if there was one kind of magic that he was terrible at, that might even be called his one failing, was mind magic- the sort that involved telling truth from false, prising information from someone unwilling (which Tanamoril considered black magic anyway) and also things like hypnotism and compulsion (more black magic). He'd seen too much of this interrogation by magic during his war.

However, he was certain that he would need those skills, he thought, dismounting from his mare to give it a much-deserved rest, if he wanted to track the princess. He did not for a moment believe that it was Mandillans who had kidnapped the princess Aemilia. There were no reasons why they would, and there were very few magic-users from Mandilla capable of deflecting scrying spells from a fixed location. If only he had heard of the kidnapping before! He might have scried then. That idiot king had most unfortunately showed good sense when he had kept the kidnapping secret. For as long as it was possible, anyway.

He had traveled incognito for more than a week, now. He was sure the gossips had lost track of him now, so he would arrive at the capital city unobserved. What he would do when he got there... He pondered his dilemma as he trudged into the setting sun, which threw light, over the treetops, most annoyingly into his eyes. He supposed he could learn... But he couldn't use it, even in time and with someone honest as a teacher. The idiot king was sure to attempt his suicidal war soon, even if he couldn't get him, Moril, as his Sorcerer.

Could he get someone to do it for him? But no, that was just as bad. What, oh _what_, could he do?

At this point Tanamoril wandered right into the middle of the paved road in his consternation. If he had been paying attention, he might have noticed, the danger bearing down on him in the form of Tana's coach to home, specially hired for just that occasion.

* * *

Tana was bored. Bored, bored, bored. It wasn't only because of the near-featureless view of farm after farm from the coach, or the nondescript interior of said coach, or the unsightly view of the horses' nether ends.

To keep her mind busy, she tried to meditate. Breathe in seven, hold seven, release seven... But the carriage was too bouncy. She couldn't concentrate.

So then she tried to recite the names of the Seven Magical Creatures of Manape over and over in her head, but no, that was too boring for a carriage ride. It reminded too much of the dull school room in which she had learned them. She cast her mind out for other things.

Unbidden, memories of home came back. She recalled the nervous politeness the people of her little hamlet had used to her face, and the sneering backtalk she heard when her back was turned. Uncivilized little hellspawn. Blight on a fine family. How Tana had kept from burning down the whole place was a concept she couldn't quite grasp.

Unpleasant thoughts of her parents and the house they all lived in followed on the heels of thoughts of the townspeople. It wasn't that they were unpleasant, she conceded. They were just so boring and uptight. They could not deal with the unexpected, nor with anything out of the norm. Like herself. And their sentiments- or personality- whatever, she thought- rubbed off on the mill and the millhouse. She had been glad to get away, and somewhat disappointed that she was going back, even if it was only for a month or two. A month or two too long. She bleakly considered what a nine days' nightmare she would still be to _everyone_. The talk of the town. Hellspawn, now with training. They tolerated other firewitches, but apparently the notion of such a stain on such a fine, _upstanding_ family... If it wasn't for that omnipresent boredom, she suspected that her hair would burst into flames just thinking of those horrendous two-faced... As it was, her hair threw off sparks.

With effort, she pushed such grim thoughts away. She cast about for something to replace her train of thought without giving way to boredom again.

And so it was that she was almost glad when the man appeared suddenly out of the dark.

* * *

Moril had had no time to move, and he was not even aware of his danger until after the horses had swerved, and swerved again to avoid a ditch that gaped ominously out of the side of the road, overturning the coach.

He certainly heard the coachman's foul language- no one could miss such oaths, rendered in such volume- and as he turned, after-dusk or no, he could certainly not miss the carriage, drab brown though it was. And there was no way he could miss the firewitch that blasted out of the coach doors (the ones that faced up, as it would be rather hard to get out of the doors that opened into the dirt), her hair fully aflame.

She clambered, in a rather undignified manner, over the carriage's inert form- mostly undamaged; it just needed to be set back on its wheels- scrambled upright and marched towards Moril, who was rather in a state of shock, and swerved to deal with the coachman. His swears had clearly got on her nerves. Besides, she had heard all of them and more during her time at the University. Since Tana was enjoying herself too much, she didn't bother with a silencing spell- she just slapped him across the face and told him it was impolite to swear in front of a lady- "Namely, me," she said, ignoring the hypocritical fact that she had cursed the air blue on many an occasion herself, which she found almost as satisfying as flaming. The coachman might have been tempted to slap her back, but remembered that she was a firewitch and that this action might prove unwise. He clammed up.

That business done with, she turned to Moril, who had been unsure of whether he should help the coachman or shut him up. Or both. Tana had rather solved his problem, though.

She marched right up to him, invading his personal space- and the magic she could feel roiling off of him could go to the pits of hell, she thought- and began to tell him off for standing in the middle of a well-used carriage road. During this time, the coachman had gotten the horses calmed down and the carriage righted- it was really very light, though he made quite a chore of it. Then, seeing as the firewitch looked like she still wasn't done chewing out the poor wandering soul, and seeing as she could probably use magic to get herself home anyways, he dumped out her baggage and drove off the way he came. Tana didn't notice. She was too busy trolling Moril.

Luckily, Moril knew how to deal with firewitches. He'd be able to deal with this one, too, once he got over his shock.

That, he did. The trick was to bend, but not break. Do or agree as the firewitch said, being completely polite and bland, without showing nervousness, bafflement or anger. Or anything else, really. Then, while the firewitch floundered for something to rail against, one moved off at a leisurely pace- not fast enough to seem as though running away, but not so slowly that the firewitch had time to recover.

"Hey! I'm not done with you!"

Oops. Apparently too slow.

* * *

As Moril had turned away, it had occurred to Tana that here was the perfect way to set out into the world- _without_ having to go home first. She demanded that, as repayment for the confusion and delay he had caused her, he would take her baggage to her town, while she took the carriage- "Hey! Where'd it go? Why, that-" Here she launched into a tirade sprinkled liberally with bad language, aimed mostly at the carriageman. Moril started edging away.

Unfortunately- or perhaps fortunately- for him, she noticed. "Oh no, you don't," she said, hazel-green eyes glinting. "Now you definitely have to go drop my stuff off for me."

Moril protested. "I am sorry, but I simply can't. I have urgent business elsewhere."

Tana didn't believe him. They always had "urgent business" whenever she was nearby, in her town, too. "Oh, really? So, what is this 'urgent business'?"

Moril didn't have to think fast for this. "I am going to apply for the post of Royal Sorcerer."

Tana scoffed. "Sure. Well, if you _are_ a sorcerer, then you can transport my trunks to my home. It's right on the outskirts of the capital city anyways."

Figuring that it would get rid of the bossy firewitch if he complied, Moril shrugged and moved over to the trunks. Slowly.

"Oh yeah, I forgot. Introductions. My name's Tana Mil. Yours?"

"...Moril."

* * *

It was around midnight when the Millers heard someone at the door. Thinking it was their daughter, arriving very late, they opened it so they could scold her for lack of punctuality. Instead, to their great surprise, they found a tall man in a long cloak, his face hidden in shadow, standing knee-deep in trunks.

"I believe these trunks are your daughter's," the man said, handing them a letter. They stared in shock at their daughter's handwriting on the letter's back. _To: Mother and Father_. They tore it open, heedless of the envelope scraps drifting away, or of the man with the cloak drifting away, too.

Inside they found a hastily scrawled letter that Tana had written for Moril to give to her parents. In it, she told them she was setting out to seek her fortune. She advised them not to worry, she was going to travel with the man who had delivered her University stuff. He said his name was Moril, and he was a powerful sorcerer. So, no worries.

Being very prominent people in their small town community, they kept up with the gossip. Which meant they knew who Moril was, or rather what his name might be short for. This, they thought, was very, very good. So not only did they have the latest rumored news about Tanamoril the Shadow, he had turned up on their very doorstep! And he'd taken their daughter as an apprentice. This was wonderful! They couldn't wait to tell the others in their circle of acquaintances.

* * *

Moril was returning to where he'd tied his horse when he heard a rustle in the bushes behind him. Out strolled Tana, looking as smug as a cat that has been in the cream.

Moril was too shocked to be polite. Luckily for his conscience, an outraged "What are you doing here?" was all he could get out.

"I came to see my parents' reactions, of course."

This infuriated Moril. So he'd done all that work for nothing, for a pushy little girl's prank? "So you've seen their reactions. Now go home!"

Normally, Tana would have exploded at such blatant impoliteness. But she wouldn't have been even that polite in his place, and she was still feeling too self-satisfied to be angry. "Uh-uh," she said, wagging a knowing finger in the air. "Do you know what my parents are like? I've finally set out into the world, and there is no way I'm going back- at least not for a long while yet. Besides, I've decided I'll go to the city to establish myself, and you're going that way, too, so we might as well travel together."

Now she had him trapped. He really was going to the city, though how he would manage any questioning there was- wait. Wait a minute. No one would mistake her for a well-known sorcerer, and he remembered she had mentioned some kind of university while she had been verbally lambasting him. Doubtless she had learned magic there. This... was all falling into place now.

"Alright. On one condition."

He watched her stance take on one of impatience, thinking it to be something menial, or perhaps a request. Oh, how little she knew.


End file.
